


Bawdy Ballads and Mournful Tunes

by SelkieWife



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: AU where Charlotte went to America, Charlotte Wells (mentioned), F/F, FitzBirch, FitzBirch-Centric, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Nightmares, POV Isabella Fitzwilliam, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, birchwells (mentioned), fitzwells (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieWife/pseuds/SelkieWife
Summary: Nancy Birch sings bawdy lullabies to baby Henry and Isabella thinks about what might have been. None of the song lyrics are mine. Check out the notes at the end of this fic for the song titles.
Relationships: Nancy Birch/Isabella Fitzwilliam
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18
Collections: Harlots Week 2020





	Bawdy Ballads and Mournful Tunes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hailbabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailbabel/gifts).



Isabella is surprised to find that Nancy Birch is a crooner of lullabies. She also didn't expect her to take to baby Henry like she has, fussing and cooing over him when poor Anne Pettifer needs a moment of respite. When Isabella catches Nancy playing with and delighting the babe, it makes the cold hollow feeling inside her heart fill with warmth and solace. 

Though Isabella is a bit thrown by some of the more, ah, _colorful_ lyrics of the lullabies. At times it is all she can do to suppress a laugh during lines such as, “to Soho he came, with his prick in a flame,” or “nine inch will please a lady,” or what is quickly becoming Isabella’s favorite, “friggin in the riggin, there’s nothing else to do.” Yet Nancy sings with such a sweet, clear voice, surprisingly melodic after years of gin and pipe smoke. 

Sometimes it is painful though. Catching soft glimpses of Nancy like this, swaying with a babe in her arms, in the middle of a refrain of “Divert the dull Demon with drink, with drink!” Sometimes, Isabella can’t stop the tears from cutting through her smiles. The dull ache inside her heart pulses mercilessly at the thought of Sophia. She had not been there to sing for her. Had someone else? Someone like Nancy? 

Tonight the song choice is different. Much less bawdy than her other tunes and a touch mournful.

_While picking flowers in the field  
_ _In the springtime of the year  
_ _I heard the sound of chariot wheels  
_ _And was afraid with nothing to fear_

Her voice is sure and sweet as always, but there is a pain behind the words she sings. It is a song of the myth of Persephone, of longing and loss. Isabella wonders if Nancy learned it during her time with Quigley. She remembers Charlotte telling her horror stories of Quigley arranging the girls in tableaus of the Greek myths. Try as she might, she can’t quite see Nancy Birch being arranged in a tableau. Even as a child. Though she might have made a lovely Artemis. Yes, she definitely can see Nancy as that particular goddess, dressed as a god, with a bow and quiver, protecting the innocent. But there is no protecting innocents at Golden Square. 

Nancy, for her part, never talks much about what she went through with Quigley. And Isabella never presses. But she knows it always lurks just below the surface, like her experiences with her brother. They both know that pain without ever having to voice it. There is safety and solidarity in their shared silences about what couldn’t quite break them.

_The sweetest flower that ever bloomed  
_ _grows far deep inside a bush of thorns  
_ _And happiness then is like the rose,  
_ _for without pain nothing good is born._

_To know the daylight you must know dark,  
_ _to know the flowers you must know weeds;  
_ _you cannot meet again unless you part,  
_ _or eat a pomegranate without seeds._

_Oh yes, it's true then that life is good,  
_ _and I've learned the lesson it can teach:  
_ _that you can never have all you want,  
_ _and you never want what's within reach._

Nancy’s voice has gotten quite raw by the end of her song and little Henry has fallen fast asleep in her arms. Isabella comes behind her as Nancy dips down to place him in his bassinet. 

A sudden rush of regret washes over Isabella and when Nancy turns back to her, there are tears standing in her eyes. 

“Something’s wrong… what troubles you?”

“Oh Nancy. That ballad. It was so beautiful…”

“Nah…” Nancy gruffly shrugs off her compliment, “You should hear Mags sing it. Voice as clear and pure as the bells of St. Paul’s… She used to sing it to the girls when they were little’uns.”

There is a small silence as Nancy searches her eyes and Isabella reaches for words that won’t carry tears. 

“Do you ever wonder…" she finally says, "what might have been? Had we met earlier? If we might have raised children together. My Sophia… or a child of yours.”

She feels Nancy’s sure arm wrap around her.

“We still could you know. Let’s do it tonight, I’ll stuff the babe under my cloak and we’ll spirit him away to Greek Street.”

Isabella laughs at the jest but then grows serious. “I am in earnest. I regret so much not being there for Sophia. Missing this precious time with her.”

There is a long silence as they stand looking down at little Henry, Nancy’s arms around her. When Nancy speaks her voice is tentative and soft.

“We still could though. You and I,” she says before her voice turns a little harder, a little more teasing, as if she is afraid to tread on such a vulnerable truth. “Retire to your country estate and foster a child. Pretend we are her maiden Aunts.”

Isabella hums contentedly at the vision. 

“What would we name her? The poor little foundling?” Nancy asks.

“…. Charlotte,” Isabella suddenly says and her eyes fill with tears again as she feels a blush rise to her cheeks. 

Nancy nods in agreement and gives Isabella's shoulder a squeeze. 

“I was so happy to receive her letter,” Isabella says. “She says The American Company is performing _Hamlet_ , and she is playing Ophelia,” a chill goes down her spine. "I hate the thought of her acting out such a tragic end. Just as well I am not able to see it…”

Nancy grins and shakes her head. “Didn’t even know they _had_ theatre in America. Well, she did always say she was the _Queen Pretend_ …”

“She said the Company performed in Jamaica for a number of years. She hopes they may return their eventually.”

“Sounds like a bit of adventure. Yes Charlotte would like that.”  


“The Company is in Philadelphia now.”

“It’s funny… I know that’s no where near where Mags must be. Yet it’s hard for me to imagine Charlotte Wells anywhere in America without being at Maggie’s side. Lucy says she still imagines them living together, both selling their virginities again.” 

Isabella laughs in spite of herself.

“Baby Charlotte,” Nancy muses, “named for the First Lady of the American Stage. It is a fine name. Do you still miss her?” Nancy asks cautiously.

“Always. I’m happy for her and her Irishman, of course” Isabella insists even though the inside of her chest feels heavy. "He offered her his whole heart. I always kept mine hidden.” 

“It’s harder to expose a heart than some people think,” Nancy states, somewhat bitterly. “Lucy was the only Wells who ever understood that.”

“Charlotte… saved me. She broke my spell of despair. She gave me hope. I will always love her for that,” Isabella says before she considers, then quickly tries to amend, “I didn’t mean…”

“Nah. Of course you mean it. You go on loving her. It’s the same with me and Mags. Always will be. Hearts like ours are difficult to expose. Doesn’t mean they don't encompass many loves. And without that daring girl, we would have never met.”

Isabella turns and puts her arms around Nancy’s waist. 

“Will you stay tonight? Please? Will you sing me to sleep?” She asks in a low, suggestive voice.

“I should get back to the house…” Nancy begins. But Isabella knows that she has her. It is a Sunday night. They both know there will be no culls at Greek Street on Sunday night.

“I definitely won’t sing to ya. My voice is about as tuneful as a warbling crow. Only babes like it because they don’t know no better.”

“Nance Birch, that isn't the least bit true,” Isabella protests. 

“I’ll stay if I don’t have to sing,” Nancy says firmly, but there is a mischievous grin on her face.

“Oh alright,” sighs Isabella.

Perhaps it is the the bittersweet discussion they had, but they both fall asleep in each others arms before they can get up to any “bit of mischief” as Nancy calls it. 

Later that night Isabella awakens, shaken, in a cold sweat, to Nancy trying to calm her.

“It was just a nightmare, Dove,” she assures her. “Just a nightmare… shhhh.” 

“I’m sorry,” Isabella feels tears on her face. “He was trying to hurt her. Sophia,” she gasps out, “He was trying to hurt her the way... the way he hurt me…” 

“Shhhh,” Nancy hushes as she takes Isabella in her arms. “Sophia is safe. You are safe. That withering ball sack is dead.” Isabella holds onto her and lets the tears fall freely now. They come out in deep shattering sobs before she finally breathes steadily again. Yet she still feels unsettled. The dream felt so real. She feels Nancy’s fingers stroking her hair. After a time, Nancy begins to sing softly.

_Seven wise men with knowledge so fine,  
_ _Created a pussy to their design_

A giggle rips through Isabella’s throat as sudden and unexpected as her mirth at Nancy’s choice of ballad. A devilish grin graces Nancy’s face in the darkness as she continues singing.

_First was a butcher, with a smart wit,  
_ _Using a knife, he gave it a slit,  
_ _Second was a carpenter, strong and bold,  
_ _With a hammer and chisel, he gave it a hole,_

Isabellas giggling reaches a crescendo at that and turns into a full hearty cackle. Quite undignified. 

“Stop it girl,” Nancy says giving her a little tap on her arse. “I ain’t finished serenading you yet.”

 _Third was a tailor, tall and thin,  
_ _By using red velvet, he lined it within,_

Isabella feels Nancy’s hands begin to wander over her shift.

_Fourth was a hunter, short and stout,  
_ _With a piece of fox fur, he lines it without,_

Isabella’s breath catches as Nancy begins to lift her shift up around her waist…

_Fifth was a fisherman, nasty as hell,  
_ _Threw in a fish and gave it a smell,_

Isabella lets out another chuckle at that line as Nancy begins trailing kisses down her leg and up the inside of her thigh.

_Sixth was a preacher, whose name was McGee,  
_ _Touched it and blessed it, and said it could pee_

Nancy brings her lips near Isabella’s slick, wet quim and gives it a soft kiss. Isabella moans, her thighs tensing, in anticipation, her clit yearning for Nancy’s filthy mouth. She has had a lifetime of regrets, but _this_. This secret world of bliss with Nancy could never be one of them.

_Last was a sailor, dirty little runt,  
_ _He sucked it and fucked and called it a…._

The melody of Isabella’s sweet moans drown out the last word of the tune as Nancy takes her in her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> The ballad lyrics I used are in order,  
> 1\. The song Nancy sings to Baby Kitty in Season 3 Ep 1 by Rael Jones  
> 2\. "Nine Inch Will Please a Lady" by Robert Burns  
> 3\. "Good Ship Venus" ("Friggin in the Riggin," Old English Ballad)  
> 4\. "Song of the Mug" (Old English Ballad)  
> 5\. "Demeter's Daughter" by Anne Lister and performed by Grace Griffin. I'm pretending it is an Old English ballad for the purpose of this fic.  
> 6\. "The Creation of a Pussy," Old English Ballad
> 
> The American Company (also known as The Hallam Company and Old American Company) was the first professional theatre in America, started in 1752. They did tour Jamaica in 1755 and eventually returned there in 1774 when the Continental Congress banned all theatre until 1783 (yikes.) They achieved great success in Jamaica. So I imagined that Charlotte would go with them on their second Jamaican tour and finally get to see those amazing fish... The company returned to America in 1785 and settled in New York City.


End file.
